Spoiler red alert: this is an assessment, not a review, of
Interstellar. A film in which:
Michael Cain is revealed as cinema’s least convincing science-genius. Retire already!
Matthew McConaughey pushes his grufflo-whistly-voice into the red zone. McConaughey’s character, Cooper, also undergoes total consistency fail to make sure we get to Act V.
Jessica Chastain channels steely-beauty energies in order to overcome abandonment and solve the “problem of gravity”. A lone genius scribbling on a blackboard.
Anne Hathaway claims that love is empirically verifiable. That’s science, don’t you know: methodical, logical, emotionally void. Like Hathaway’s acting.
Matt Damon appears. Impersonates Bourne gone loopy. Re-enacts classic fight scene from Arena. Why, oh why?! Don’t wake him up!
The robots, TARS and CASE, don’t go mad. They save the day. Multiple times. They totally steal the show.
Interstellar is not original. It’s not a homage to 2001. It’s a mish-mash of The Fifth Element, Close Encounters, Contact, ET, Solaris, and 2001; a dash of Prometheus, Alien, The Tree of Life. Most of all it reminded me of Danny Boyle’s much under-rated Sunshine, and the 60s family show Lost in Space. Interstellar is a high-brow wannabe girded with lashings of sentimental twaddle.
The low point: When they arrive at Saturn’s black hole, and the science guy explains to Cooper that faster-than-light travel “is like folding a page”. Argh! As if ashamed at their clichéd exposition, the producers decided to make the black hole a sphere. “A sphere? I thought it would be a hole,” says Cooper, speaking on behalf of the dumb audience members. Science guy slaps forehead: “4D, man, 4D!”
The low, low point: When they wake up Dr Mann and its Matt Damon.
The low, low, low point: more physics exposition. I half expected Brian Cox to enter stage left and start bumbling on about how this or that new planet was billions and billions and billions of light years away.
As with all Nolan’s films, aggressive sound pummels you into submission. Like a giant, all-encompassing dust-storm, the score waxes so loud it fills all plot holes, corrodes all lumps in pace, suffocates all shonky dialogue, and forces you to retreat to the deepest recesses of your cinema seat. Noise power can be exhilarating – the post disaster docking sequence is genuinely awesome – but it is also obvious and tiring.
The low, low, low, low point: the Final Act. Deathbed scene with your decrepit daughter? That’s just base sentimentality worthy of Hanks/Spielberg.
I don’t get why critics call this film incomprehensible. Its obvious.
George Monbiot’s analysis is totally on the money: “This fantasy permits us to escape the complexities of life on Earth for a starlit wonderland beyond politics.” He is so right it leaves little to say. Except that the film isn’t about life beyond earth. The film never even gets that far, really; it just transmutes space exploration into ‘love dilemmas’. Dear Mariella, I’m one hundred and thirty years older than my daughter due to a temporal anomaly, what should I do? Dear Mariella, my boyfriend crash-landed on a planet, but I don’t know if its habitable – should I call him?
Interstellar doesn’t explore the cosmos – it retreats into heteronormative, US small town, family drama.
Item 1: The team are all American. Small point, but it flies against the internationalism of, say, Sunshine, or the post-national techno-asceticism of 2001. They are also obviously American – the old school NASA logo, the corn-farm as ground zero. And all the humans going to be saved in Plan A, or in the eugenic-tastic Plan B are – we can only presume – American. Just as Dr Bland describes the arch-pioneer of the first mission as “the best of us,” we can only assume that this American embryo bank represents the best of us too.
Item 2: The robots steal the show. The human characters are totally shackled to Earth by the messy ties of love, unable to think about the cosmic importance of their mission. Coop bleats on about his children, who he sort of liked but are estranged and annoying (and billions of billions of billions of miles away anyway). Brand Jnr is prepared to alter the mission to chase after her squeeze – it takes Coop to remind her that ‘love’ is not generally an acceptable parameter in hypothesis formulation. I’m not quite sure whether Dr Mann (Matt Damon) is trying to save the mission or himself.
By contrast the robots are faster, stronger, smarter. They are able to crack jokes (even if they are weak sf-homage/rip-off ones about setting the auto-destruct sequence they bring much-needed levity…). They save people on multiple occasions.
Why was the mission not run by the robots? Matt Damon tells us that this is because they “can’t improvise.” But since all the mission problems come from people improvising and changing their minds having a few more robots around might have been a good idea! The real clincher is the way that TARS and CASE are prepared to go into the singularity to collect data (Coop’s motives make no sense here). The robots are still doing science long after the best of humanity have descended into dribbling sentimental idiots.
The final Acts reveal that instead of dwelling in deep space and infinite time, we are caught in claustrophobic, recursive loops: love, love lost, love regained. That isn’t uplifting. It’s boring, because it’s a drivelly kind of cinema schamltz writ cosmic.
The only wormhole traverse here is Nolan’s yearning for a parochial, apolitical, happy-family mythic world that can’t exist. It’s a retreat, a surrender in the face of a challenge to do good science fiction.